Songs of Joy and Peace
by 1848EllisBell
Summary: We want to say #ThankYouTerri for #CaskettAtLast by donating to a cause close to Terri's heart: the Young Storytellers Foundation, whose mission is "to inspire children to discover the power of their own voice." Until December 8th, please give what you can in honor of the Castle family to pass on the gift of storytelling to the next generation of writers (See my profile for link).
1. Chapter 1

**_Note: A collection of my Castle Christmas fics, some will be reposts, some new, all unrelated stories._ **

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><p>"<em>I have dreamed in my life, dreams that have stayed with me ever after, and changed my ideas; they have gone through and through me, like wine through water, and altered the color of my mind." ~Emily Bronte<em>

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><p>Post-ep: Secret Santa (but no actual spoilers)<p>

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><p><strong>All Paths<strong>

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><p>She watches him drift; her eyes flick towards him, to comment on the movie they watch while curled up on his couch, but he's no longer taking it in. He faces the screen, but his eyes have shifted to the right, and they're clouded by the haze of... Memories? New worlds? She nudges him, and smiles as the lights comes on once more. He meets her eyes, returns the smile.<p>

"Where were you?" Kate asks, pausing the film to demand his attention. The small smile still plays on her lips, but she knows her concern shows through in her eyes.

Castle shakes his head, dispersing the last of the thoughts troubling him. "Lost in paths not taken and lives not lived," he replies.

"Creating a new novel?"

"No." He wraps an arm around her shoulder, and draws her closer to him. His chin rests on the top of her head; he holds her securely to him, like he'll never let her go. "This movie, it make me think..." he begins, and then pauses, feeling foolish.

She can't relax her muscles, can't smooth the frown lines that have formed between her eyes. "Us?" she asks. When she feels him nod against her head, his chin rubbing against her hair, she pulls back, and looks up at him. She doesn't see fear, or doubt. She sees love, and, while she won't tease him just yet, he can blink as fast as he wants but she saw the misty glaze wash across his eyes. "Is _It's a Wonderful Life _making you all sappy and sentimental?"

He is silent, contemplative for a moment, willing the words he is usually so skilled with to not fail him now. "It makes me think, had our lives taken different paths, we might not be sharing this moment now."

She nods in response; how different would her life be now had certain events not happened? It's Christmas Eve. She's curled up in Castle's arms on his couch, having spent the evening eating dinner and laughing with his family, and she doesn't want to think about such things. She doesn't want to think of a life she doesn't have. A life with her mom? But perhaps without Castle? She slips out of his arms, stands slowly, and extends a hand to him. He wraps his larger hand around hers, squeezing it in comfort, and she gives him a rueful smile. "C'mon, Castle." They're both tired, both letting the heaviness of the holiday season overcome them. She takes him to his bedroom, and gives him one last gift before the clock strikes twelve.

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><p>Kate wakes slowly, allowing her body to drift back to consciousness, allowing the cobwebs of sleep to be cleared at their own pace. There's no rush. It's Christmas morning - and she's alive.<p>

_She's alive._

She stretches lazily, but her movements are stilted, cautious. She still feels the pull of the scar, on her abdomen, long and pink and marring her pale skin. Her fingers grip the bottom of her pajama top, and she tugs it up, just enough to reveal the thick line of the wound that almost killed her. A scar that shouldn't be there. Or is it her who shouldn't be here?

It's December 25th 1999, and the anniversary looms. January 9th: the day she almost died. How has almost an entire year passed? It's all still too vivid, the events of that night, it's all still too raw.

"Kate?" The door opens, and her mom steps into her bedroom, beaming at her. "Merry Christmas."

She's home for the holidays, still struggling to keep up with her studies after a year of recovering from that night in January, but as determined as ever to push through and be amazing. Anything less and she would feel like she was letting her parents and herself down. Anything less and the man who attacked them that night has won. Tugging her pajama top down to cover the scar, she sits up. "Merry Christmas, Mom," she replies, forcing the smile. She arranges the blankets over her waist, keeps the memories of that night hidden.

"Oh, Katie." Her mom crosses the room, and sits beside her, balancing on the edge of the bed. Within seconds she's enveloped in her mother's comforting arms, and sobbing silently into her shoulder. "I know, Katie. I know."

_Katie. _They had stopped calling her by that name when she turned thirteen. They started again, January 11th. Katie - the first word she recalls hearing when she drifted back into consciousness. She takes a deep breath while her mom soothes her. Therapy has helped, has made moving forward a possibility, but she still gets flashes. The alley, the man, the knife. _Her funeral._ PTSD, they tell her. She hates that it has a name, hates having those letters connected to her, hates how it makes her feel. She hates how angry she has become this year - because of _him_.

She wasn't even meant to be there. January 9th. She was supposed to be in a restaurant, eating dinner, celebrating. But... A split change in decision to meet her mom elsewhere, and she had been _there_, walking at her mom's side one moment, and deflecting a blow from a man she didn't know the next. Deflecting a blow aimed at her mother. She hadn't been quick enough for the next one, the one he'd aimed at her. The knife had pierced her skin, and she had felt every inch of it as it was thrust into her, the searing pain forever with her. If others hadn't come to their aid, if people hadn't heard the commotion, she would be dead. She knows this. And it haunts her.  
>Her mom, who received cracked ribs and a black eye in the attack, would be lost now too. And her dad, God, he never would have survived losing his wife and his baby girl.<br>The man was caught, Dick Coonan was behind bars, and the year approaching is supposed to be all about change, about moving forward, and yet with the memories of the attack still so fresh, still crippling her both psychologically and physically, she doesn't know if she'll ever truly be free of it all.

"I'm okay," she tells her mom, her voice low and even, despite the fact it's all a lie.

It's Christmas, and she's alive. They're all alive.

But she's not okay.

Because something refuses to settle. Deep within her, something about that night - and the man involved - just doesn't sit right. They tell her - the therapists, the ones who apparently know better - that she's healing, and in time she will make her peace. They tell her she will stop looking over her shoulder, stop fearing corners, dark alleys. _You're pre-law, Kate_, they tell her. _Focus on school._

But she can't shake the feeling there's more to what happened that night than Coonan will ever let on.

* * *

><p>December 25th 2005, and she's stuck at work. <em>It's Christmas for Christ's sake<em>. She shakes her head, frowns at herself and her choice of wording. But here she is, elbow deep in paperwork that's threatening to engulf her completely. And it's moments like these that make her question why she ever thought becoming a lawyer was a good idea. Perhaps taking a job at her parent's firm fresh off the bar examination wasn't her best move either. It's moments like these that make joining the force - an idea that's been circling around in her mind the past few years - more appealing. She's been thinking, for almost six years now, that this isn't right. Something in her life has felt off - wrong. She thinks she made a mistake. She wants to investigate the crime scenes, catch those like the man who hurt her, hurt her mom. She wants to be the kind of cop who listens, who takes all evidence seriously, not like the ones who...

There's a piece of evidence from her own attack that she won't discuss again, at least not yet. She's found something, something vague and seemingly inconspicuous. Something the investigating detectives brushed off as meaningless, and never spoke of again. She saw the darkness invade their eyes, felt the cloud settle over them. She heard the warning in their tone. She hasn't told her parents, she keeps this to herself now.

This is bigger than her, and she knows the territory she's entering into, knows how dangerous this could get.

She's been focusing on it this past year, and the deeper she quietly digs, the more she uncovers, the clearer it all becomes.

It all points to one thing. Police involvement.

Maybe she's insane. Maybe the trauma of that night affected her far worse than she even dares to imagine. But what if she's right?

She needs to make some changes. A shift in career even.

She's not dropping this.

Not as long as she's alive.

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><p>Isn't life just the strangest thing sometimes? She had been straightening up her desk, preparing to go home and join her parents for what was left of Christmas day, when he had walked in. Her... Partner? No, she still hesitates to call him that. Her shadow? More like her hindrance.<p>

But he's helpful, amazingly so. The closer they work with another, the more she thinks she may have found the one person she can let in on her little secret, on her little side-project.

Six months ago she had never heard the name Richard Castle. She had never read his books, never even given them a passing glance in the stores. She works Homicide at the Twelfth Precinct for a living - another thing she had never anticipated when she first joined the force, but life's funny like that too - she doesn't need to go home at the end of the day and read about it. But then he had come along, fresh off a divorce and fresh off the death of his most successful character. Now here he was, shadowing her, creating a character loosely based on her, and pretty much getting in her way every opportunity he got.

2009 has shaped up to be one of the strangest years ever.

He _is _useful, thought she might never admit that to him. Easy on the eye too, and she definitely won't admit that. But to say he is growing on her would be a stretch.

She can deflect his charm better than she can deflect knives.  
>And she would know.<p>

She sighs, shifts in her chair as he approaches. Her scar still acts up this time of year. The chill descends over the city, the Christmas decorations go up, and all she can think is how she shouldn't be here. She shouldn't be alive.

He looks concerned as he settles in the chair beside her, as she avoids his gaze. "You okay?"

She focuses on the paperwork scattering the surface of her desk, and shrugs. "Just want to get home."

"Go," he tells her, as though it's the most obvious thing in the world. "I'm sure this can wait."

She looks up. "Why aren't you at home? Lavishly celebrating the holiday as only a millionaire writer can?"

The pain fills his blue eyes, and she instantly regrets it.

"Does Meredith have Alexis?"

He nods. "First Christmas without her, without either of them. The loft is..." He shrugs. "It's not Christmas."

She understands then. Castle is famously parentless. A mother who died while he was still young - who took the secret of his father to the grave. And now, this year, still recovering from the divorce, his ex-wife Meredith has taken their only daughter Alexis away for Christmas - and he's hurting. So he'd come to spend time with the only other person he knew would be alone (because she'd drawn the short straw this year and was stuck at the precinct) - and she's only depressed him further.

"You wanna..." She trails off then, unsure how to word it - unsure if she should even suggest it. Their partnership - whatever this is - is still new, they're still learning one another. She knows anything she shares with him will ultimately end up in a book but...  
>"We won't be doing much, just watching old movies, eating leftovers, but you're welcome to join my family tonight?" She doesn't mean to end it with a question, but she feels awkward and doesn't know how else to finish that sentence.<p>

A smile tugs at his lips. It's small, just a hint of happiness, but she sees it.

"I wouldn't want to impose."

She rolls her eyes at that. "Oh, please," she tells him. She drops the mocking tone from her voice, and adds, "But you wouldn't be imposing. Also, my mom's a big fan of your work, you'd make her Christmas if you came along." Yes, she's giving his ego a little gift right now. It is Christmas after all.

"You're not usually nice to me, Beckett," he reminds her. "What's wrong?"

He's eying her warily. Probably thinking pod-person. She isn't usually this giving, or this open. She rarely shows him more than one side of herself: the woman who refuses to let him in as to why she harbors so much anger. He's just started basing a character on her, subtly digging for back-story, and oh boy if only he knew the story she's considering hitting him with. He knows she survived a stabbing and it led her to a career working Homicide. He knows nothing more.  
>"No one should be alone at Christmas, Castle."<p>

He looks mildly hurt then. "Not a big fan of pity invites, Beckett."

She sighs, frustrated. "Look, come, or don't come." The anger returns. "It's up to you. But the invite is there, and there's no pity in it." She shifts her attention back to the forms in front of her. God, she just wants to go home. God, she just wants to share this evidence with him. With someone. It's steadily eating away at her, and it's on the verge of destroying her. And he could help. She doesn't have to do this alone...

He's silent for a moment, before his hand disappears beneath the desk, and she hears rustling coming from the floor. She glances quickly his way, curious, shifting her attention back to her desk before he catches her looking. A small, neatly wrapped parcel is placed before her, and she suppresses a smile. She glances up at him, raising her eyebrows.

"Look," he begins, "we work together, and I think we're becoming friends?" He pauses, and she shrugs slightly in response, a kind of 'I don't really do friends, so I don't know what we are' gesture. "I didn't know if we were gift-giving colleagues but I took a chance."

She frowns then, and glances back down at the gift.

"You can open it now, or you can open it later, but please accept it."

Her lips part, but she's lost for words.

"The words you're looking for are: thank you." He grins at her, at himself, clearly pleased at his ability to render her speechless. He stands, and as he walks away, he turns and tosses four words over his shoulder. "I'll see you tonight."

She reaches a hand out, traces the ribbon he has so carefully wrapped around the gift. Their relationship is in flux. Whatever they are now, she feels they will be friends before the end of the night - if he survives dinner with her family.

If he survives the little secret she will reveal before the evening's done.

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><p>It's December 25th 2011, and she loves him. She is head-over-heels. In love. With Richard Castle.<p>

The man who has worked tirelessly at her side the past few years, uncovering evidence that linked the captain - her captain, her mentor - to the crime that almost took her life.

Castle has stuck by her, kept her from falling over the edge, battled her demons with her, and, with words more eloquent than she could ever have imagined, kept the darkness at bay.

And she loves him.

She has admitted it, but the words couldn't have left her lips at a worse time.

At Captain Montgomery's funeral he took a bullet for her.

Her hand compressing the wound, she had screamed at him to hold on, and between the fear and distress other words had slipped from her mouth. Slowly and softly at first, and then they had tumbled, flowed.

_I love you. I love you. I love you._

_Please don't leave me._

_I love you._

Six months later, and they haven't mentioned it. He never speaks of it. She's too terrified to bring it up first.

But it's Christmas Day, and a line from a movie runs through her head. _At Christmas you tell the truth _(_not when he's dying in your arms, _she thinks mirthlessly).

So she'll tell him today. Hand poised to knock on his door, bottom lip caught firmly between her teeth, she'll tell him today.

_I love you, Castle._

See. So easy in her head. She can do this.

She knocks.

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><p>She feels different on Christmas morning. Warm and secure, her body draped across Castle's, limbs tangled together, her head stealing the corner of his pillow from him, she feels altered from the images that filled her head while she slept.<p>

Wrapped up in him, her body held to his by his arm around her shoulders, his fingers lazily brushing patterns, and perhaps also words, along her upper arm, she tightens her own hold on him. Her body presses just a little more firmly against his, her arm, thrown across his stomach, a little less relaxed now.  
>She feels exhausted, her body drained from dreaming of a different life. She recalls only snippets now, flashes of the moments that filled her mind during the night.<p>

Her mom, alive.

Her own scars present, but different.

And Castle. Still part of her life. Always there, always helping her...

And it all feels so real. Not a dream, but a life lived, years, more than a decade, passing in the space of six hours. _A life where her mom survived._

"You okay?" His voice is raw, rough like gravel, uneven and coarse like the stubble peppering his jawline.

He should be abound with energy, with excitement and glee, she knows this. He isn't, because he senses her restlessness.

She brushes her lips across the sandpaper-like texture of his skin, loves the feel of him first thing in the morning, and wishes he would go unshaven more. Like when they first met, the slightly rumpled version of him from four years ago. The real him, not the one fresh off a divorce from Meredith, not the version from her dreams.  
>She nips at his chin, the bristles pressing into her lips, almost uncomfortable, yet worth the pain. The kiss, her lips, intended to ease his concerns, but his body is tense beneath her, his brow furrowed slightly, his mouth drawn tight, and she knows he is unconvinced.<p>

He sits, pulling her up with him, and when she won't meet his eyes he fears the worst.  
>"Kate?" he asks, snaking an arm around her shoulders and kissing the crown of her head, his lips pressing down on her sleep-mussed hair. "What's wrong?"<p>

"Sorry," she apologizes, her eyes trying to avoid his, to hide the fact she's more than a little embarrassed by her own behavior. "Just a..." She exhales a long breath. "A strange dream, that's all."

She feels his body relax. "Oh?"

"Of lives not lived, of paths not taken." She frowns, worries her lower lip with her teeth while she contemplates how to explain it. "I dreamed of a life where my mom was never murdered, where I studied Law - I think - but ultimately ended up working homicide at the Twelfth." She knows she has a strange look on her face, she can feel her features twisting as she speaks. So she speaks the words, because she can't swallow them down now. "I think I expected my mom to still be alive when I woke up. That's how real it felt." She sighs in frustration at herself. "I miss her so much today."

He drops a soft kiss to her forehead. "I know," he murmurs against her skin.

She smiles sadly. "You were there too, Castle. In my dream."

"Always," he promises.

"All paths lead to you, Castle." Maybe, no matter how things had gone down that fateful winter's day, she might still be here now, in his loft, in his arms. For all of life's twists and turns, the broken paths they both wandered, maybe they were destined to meet. She sees a twinkle in his eyes, and braces herself for what's coming.

"Is Katherine Beckett actually suggesting she believes in fate?" he asks in a teasing tone.

She resists the urge to elbow him squarely in the ribs. "No, what I'm saying I believe in is not eating cheese so late at night." She won't admit to such thing just yet.

"Mmmhmm." He grins then, not letting it go. "Does _It's a Wonderful Life _always make you this sappy and sentimental?"

And then he gets the elbow in the ribs.

_End._

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><p><em><strong>This was written in 2012, but with that AU ep approaching it felt like a good story to kick off this collection :D<strong> _


	2. Chapter 2

**65 Roses**

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><p><strong><em>December 24th 2012.<em>**

She can't breathe. She equates the feeling to rubber bands snapping around her lungs, restricting each breath, and squeezing tighter. Behind eyes closed tight from pain she visualizes the room, summons the calm, forces each breath. White walls, covered with pictures and words of hope, hers the only bed in the room.

Alone, because she is dying.

Fifteen percent lung capacity was nothing, she couldn't even sit up or shift position without gasping, but oh what she wouldn't give to be there still.

She hears whispers, a susurrus of voices around her, and the words filter into her drug-addled brain. Her doctor, her mother, and a conversation she wishes she had slept through. She wishes she could sleep...

_"She needs a miracle tonight."_  
><em>"I know."<em>  
><em>"I'm sorry."<em>  
><em>"Thank you."<em>

A miracle. She knows what that means; she's been here before. She needs someone else to pass on so that she can keep on living.

She needs a stroke, a heart attack, she needs someone in the ICU to take their last breath.

Because she needs lungs. Or to wake up tomorrow morning having never been born with the genetic condition that robbed her of her own lungs, the one robbing her of her life. Both options seem just as impossible now.  
>She does not wish death on someone. No, their time will come. But before her own?<p>

It's Christmas Eve.

She needs a miracle.

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><p>Work keeps Beckett from Castle's warm loft - his warm arms - on a white and cold December 24th. She's miserable; eyes downcast, lips set in a firm line, she keeps a tenuous grip on Detective Beckett. Just beneath her cool exterior she's Kate, and she's missing him. So stinking much. It tugs at her heart, and makes her ache inside. It makes her want to leave the boys to it, and it's tempting... She shakes it off, focuses her attention on the words leaving Lanie's lips, the sentence she missed the start of.<p>

Shoving her gloved hands deep into her pockets, she shivers involuntarily at the scene on the ground before her. One woman is dead, her body rigid, the snow around her red, no longer pristine. Lanie kneeling like it isn't cold, doing her job, focused.

Kate shifts her attention to the wailing of a siren, growing fainter as it speeds off. The other woman - the lone witness - is in the back of the ambulance, on her way to a hospital that she might never see. They don't expect her to last the night.

It's just over an hour from Christmas, and Kate sees little joy around her.

Prelim exam done, the body bagged, Lanie strips off her gloves and touches a bare hand to Beckett's arm. "The boys have got this," she tells Kate. "Go home."

Kate shakes her head at her friend. "No." She can't be selfish, not tonight. Kevin, Espo, they both deserve to be with their loved ones just as much as she does. So she'll stick it out, get it done.

She will do her job, as she always does, and that job, right now, is to get to the hospital.

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><p>Hope fades fast. There is little joy here.<p>

IV. Feeding tube. Oxygen. Wires and more tubes. Meds, meds, meds. The cocktail of drugs being pumped into her offer little relief from the pain, or from her exhaustion. It all threatens to overwhelm her, makes her feel weaker than she is. She is already weak enough to need to receive a bilateral transplant, but that's not the problem - she's been at that stage for four months now. To be strong enough to survive the surgery and the difficult recovery? She has almost lost hope. She knows her survival hangs in these next few days; she knows by next week her lung function won't be enough to keep her alive if it keeps dropping at its current steady rate. She just needs to hold on but... It's almost too much now. Her body needs to rest but she's scared to sleep, scared if she gives into her exhaustion her lungs will see their chance - and give up. If she's awake, if she's aware, she will keep breathing. She will keep forcing the air in and out of her dying lungs, and she will continue on.

No, she mustn't sleep.

* * *

><p>Beckett bursts through the doors, Esposito and Ryan in tow, out of one white environment and into another.<p>

_At least_, she thinks, _it's warmer in here._

Minimal decorations adorn the interior, a lone garland around a computer monitor the only indication it's Christmas Eve. In the hospital it's just another evening, with just another day to follow.  
>While Esposito demands information on where the witness was taken, Beckett surveys the room and blocks out thoughts of what she is missing.<p>

A woman is dead. Another is dying. Castle will still be there when the night is over.

They walk in silence through the corridors, the labyrinth of blood, and pain, and death.  
><em>And life<em>, she reminds herself. _And healing and hope._  
>But right now, as they walk the halls, the heels of three pairs of shoes the only sounds emanating from them, there is no news. There is no knowing what state their witness is in. Alive? Already deceased?<p>

They are blocked from entering the area where the team works on the one person who could provide the answers and help solve the murder; they are blocked from the information they need most tonight.

So Beckett paces. Tired, and antsy, she walks a few feet down the hall, pulls out her phone, stares at the display, resists the need to phone Castle, shoves it back in her pocket, walks back down the hall.  
>She needs a distraction. Something to help pass the time. She can barely keep her eyes open. Could she slip away for a coffee?<br>She looks up at the guys, and they're just as bone-weary as she is.

"Coffee?"

They nod, grateful for the caffeine boost, promising to call her should there be news.

It's strange to her, waiting at the hospital on Christmas Eve, pacing the halls, surrounded by nervous energy. It feels personal. It feels like a friend is behind those doors. Because it's Christmas, perhaps, and everyone needs to feel like someone gives a damn about them.

Except...She just needs a witness.

And it feels just as cold to her as it sounded in her head.

* * *

><p>Lucidity is a blessing, as fleeting as it may be. She opens her eyes, not from sleep but from that in between place she fights to stay in, and her room is empty again, but her door is open. Her mom isn't here, probably not far away, but she panics a little.<br>And she can't afford to panic. She can't breathe when she panics. She can barely breathe when she's calm.  
>She's twenty-five, but she feels like a child. A little girl who needs her mom. She's dying - and she needs her mom.<p>

Her nose hurts; they changed her mask a few hours ago, to give her nasal passages a rest, but she feels it. The phantom feeling of the cannula haunts her still. Her lips are dry, cracked. She doesn't look in mirrors anymore. She knows how she looks. Blue-tinged skin, sunken cheeks, dark circles beneath scared eyes. Death is not pretty.

Her eyes focus on the scenes out in the corridor, and she keeps watch, waiting for her mom to return, to hold her hand and tell her it's going to be alright. Because it will be... Won't it? It has to be...  
>Her eyes strain, blurred by the lights, her sinus headache, and the drugs.<br>A familiar figure walks slowly past. Long brunette curls flecked with gold, dark pants and a red coat.

"Mom?" The word leaves her lips quickly, too loud; she says it before realizing that's not her mom, and she feels stupid. Stupid and dying.

_That's Ellie Jensen, everyone_, she thinks sadly to herself. _Couldn't even keep new lungs in her body for a full two years before they started to reject her. Stupid._

And so here she is again back on the transplant list thanks to Chronic Rejection. She is running out of time. Dying, again. Like always.  
>The figure in the corridor stops. The woman who resembles her mom lifts her eyes from the cellphone screen and meets hers.<p>

"Sorry," Ellie apologizes, her voice muffled by the mask.

The woman gives her a kind smile. "That's okay," she says from the door. She glances down the corridor before looking back. "Would you like me to find your mom?"

"No, she'll return, she's probably gone for more coffee." She knows her voice is shaking, but she can't help it. She knows she sounds like a lost, little girl. But, damn it, she's terrified.

The woman glances down the corridor once more, briefly at the phone in her hands, and then meets her eyes again. "Can I come in?"

Ellie nods. "I'm not contagious," she replies. "I'm dying, but you won't catch it." She chuckles at herself from behind the oxygen mask, but the sound lacks mirth.

"You look like you need some company." She extends a hand as she moves to stand beside the bed. "I'm Detective Beckett, but you can call me Kate."

Ellie smiles. "Ellie. Nice to meet you, Kate." She holds the woman's strong hand, wishing she had such strength.

Kate glances around, and pulls up a chair, the one her mom usually sits in. "I'm here for work," she explains as she settles beside the bed. "I work homicide."

"Someone died?" Ellie asks, the sadness in her voice not from her own condition in this moment.

Kate nods. "And our witness is fighting for their life."

"So you're waiting too."

Kate tilts her head at her words. "I'm waiting for the woman to wake up. What are you waiting for, Ellie?"

_To die_. The words echo through her mind. _To die. To die. To die._ She holds them back. "For new lungs. Mine are failing."

* * *

><p>Kate Beckett's problems feel insignificant, even more so than they did at the crime scene. She feels selfish. How dare she want to rush through this night so she can curl up in Castle's bed, wake up with him on Christmas morning, when Ellie is stuck in a hospital bed on Christmas Eve, alone. Wishing - hoping - for a second chance.<p>

She sees Ellie yawn behind the mask. "It's late, I should let you sleep."

Ellie shakes her head. "I don't sleep," she replies.

Kate raises an eyebrow. "Never?"

"Not much, anyway."

"Your mom is here late. Visiting hours are over, aren't they?"

"Visiting hours don't count when you're in my condition."

Beckett's phone buzzes before Ellie can elaborate, and she glances down at the screen to read the message from Ryan.  
><em>Witness didn't make it. Heading home. Go to Castle.<em>  
>No 'Merry Christmas'. Not when two women have lost their lives. Such words will be exchanged tomorrow.<br>She glances up at the wide, frightened eyes of the frail girl in the bed. Castle will wait. She curls her legs up under her on the small chair and smiles. "I'll stay with you until your mom comes back, sweetie."

"What if your witness wakes up?"

Kate shakes her head. "She won't. She didn't make it."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

A comfortable silence fills the room. Ellie's eyes remain fixed outside the door, and Kate glances around at the Get Well Soon and Thinking of You cards that are stuck to the walls. Crayon drawings of roses from children, paintings of roses from talented artists, and every degree of talent in between, seemingly hundreds of pictures, fill the spaces between the cards. She does a count, taking them all in. Sixty five. She assumes roses are Ellie's favorite. There's quite a display of love surrounding Ellie, and her heart clenches in her chest as she becomes aware of just how loved this girl is. But there are no animals, no childish trinkets.

_Not girl. Woman_, she corrects herself, guessing she is older than she appears.

Ellie, having followed Kate's gaze, meets her eyes, and shrugs. "I have Cystic Fibrosis."

And then she tells her story, slowly, needing to pause between every couple of words to inhale a forced breath.  
>Time passes. Kate doesn't know how long, doesn't keep track, but it's long enough to understand everything this girl has gone through. Her entire life. Relentless coughing, so bad she would vomit several times a day, never being able to catch her breath, digestive problems, feeding tubes, IVs and antibiotics, sinus headaches, and a double-lung transplant two years ago. Now, rejection.<p>

"Do you have a story, Detective Beckett?"

"Not like yours, not even close."

"Tell me anyway?"

So she does. She tells her own story until a woman enters the room, dressed not unlike herself, her curious, damp eyes meeting Beckett's.

"Mom," Ellie says, her eyes lighting up.

Kate stands, extends her hand. "I'm- Kate." She catches herself before she says 'Detective'. "I was keeping your daughter company."

* * *

><p>"I got scared," Ellie whispers. God, she sounds pathetic to her own ears, she can't imagine how she sounds to the Detective keeping her company. She turns back to Kate, and smiles behind the mask. "Thank you for telling me your story."<p>

Kate smiles back at her. "Thank you for sharing yours."

Her mom takes her hand, forces her look up. She's smiling. Why is her mom smiling? Her team of doctors enter the room in a flurry of activity, and her heart pounds in her chest.

"You're getting lungs, Ellie," her mom tells her, her voice faltering, barely containing her emotions. "They're going to prep you now."

Eyes wide, disbelieving, Ellie inhales as much air as her damaged lungs will accept. "Now?" she asks, shock filling her, overflowing until tears roll down her cheeks.

"Now."

* * *

><p>Kate slips out of the room. She pulls her phone from her pocket, calls Castle.<br>"I'm on my way," she tells him and even through the phone she can hear the relief draining from him. It's almost midnight, but it's still Christmas Eve.

She drives the quiet streets, pulls up outside his building. The elevator ride feels longer, seems endless.

He is waiting at his door for her, and she falls easily into his embrace. She wraps her arms around him, her body flush with his, buries her nose in his shoulder, and inhales. She breathes him in, takes a deep breath and holds it, and the day begins to melt away.  
>But as she exhales there's something she just can't shake.<p>

"You okay?" he murmurs against her hair.

She is reluctant to step out of his embrace, and she knows he is sensing it. "Long day," she says, her lips brushing his jaw.

"Come on." He pulls back, takes her hand, and tugs her into the warm loft, closing the door behind them.

He leads her towards the bedroom, but she pauses just before his office, tugging at his hand so he stops also.  
>She lingers in front of the large Christmas tree, the lights still burning, the baubles twinkling as the colors hit them. "I think I witnessed a true Christmas miracle tonight," she tells him. There's so much sadness surrounding the events of the night, it's all so bitter-sweet, but for one person, for one young woman, a death meant life, and it's haunting her in a dark but beautiful kind of way.<p>

He wraps his strong arms around her from behind, and draws her body back to his. "At the crime scene?" he asks, confused.

His warm breath tickles her cheek, and she sinks back against him. "No," she says on a sad puff of air. "The witness died, but... I think another life was saved because of that." Castle turns her in his arms and she doesn't even try to hide how it has affected her.

He kisses away a tear, catching it with his lips as it trails down her cheek. His lips find hers, and she tastes her mix of heartache and hope on him. She smiles as they separate.

"Tell me about this miracle," he says.

She waits until they are in bed, safe under the covers, wrapped up in one another's arms, before she shares Ellie's story - and the unusual timing of the donor lungs.

* * *

><p><em><strong>END.<strong>_

**AN: cffdotorg / aboutCFFoundation / About65Roses /**

_Miss you forever, Eva._


	3. Chapter 3

_"Terri Edda Miller has put her heart into telling the story of our favorite characters since Castle debuted in 2009. Through the __**#ThankYouTerri**__ fundraising campaign, we hope to express our gratitude to the whole Castle team by donating to a cause close to Terri's heart: the Young Storytellers Foundation. Between now and December 8th, please give what you can to pass on the gift of storytelling to the next generation."_

–The **#ThankYouTerri** fundraising team.

**For more information, and to donate to this fantastic cause, head to my profile for the direct link, or check out the #ThankYouTerri twitter hashtag for links.**

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><p><span><strong>26 WEEKS<strong>

**SUMMARY: _First night of your life, curled up on your own. Looking at you now, you would never know._**

**Est. Relationship. Caskett. Future fic. Christmas fic.**

**INSPIRED BY: _Wires_ by Athlete**

* * *

><p>Twenty six weeks. Too early. It wasn't supposed to happen so soon.<p>

Castle ran through the hospital corridors, only slowing his pace when yelled at by an orderly, just enough to not put others in danger. Corridor after corridor, wing after wing, through door after door. The hospital seemed like a labyrinth of twists and turns, with a monster named death stalking his family. He had to get there first, and never allow that monster to find them.

He hadn't been there. Why hadn't he been there? At twenty five weeks Kate had told him it was fine for him to go promote his book. She understood - and accepted - his commitments. She would be fine, she promised. He should have listened to his gut; he should have stopped for just a second to decipher that uneasy swirling sensation in the pit of his stomach, shouldn't have fought against it as it latched onto his heart and squeezed. The plan had been to be home December 23rd. Here he was, on December 19th, home early, yet nine hours too late. When Kate went into labor, when the baby decided she just wasn't waiting another day, when there was nothing anyone could do, he hadn't been there. And getting to her now, navigating the endless hallways in the hospital, seemed almost impossible.

"Kate?" He skidded into her room, sliding on the slick floors, his face red, gleaming with a thin sheen of sweat. "Our daughter...?" He trailed off, couldn't end that question.

Kate sat in her hospital bed, her face pale and drawn. Her hair was pulled back in a messy ponytail, and the bags under her eyes were so dark she looked like she'd been punched in the face. But she had, in a sense. After a difficult pregnancy, the premature birth of their daughter was the final blow. Reaching out a hand to him she squeezed his as he took it. "She's a fighter, Rick."

"She's alive?" Awe and relief in his tone, on his face.

Kate nodded, giving him a tight smile. "She's alive."

"Where?" He glanced around, frantic, as though she was in the room, even though his brain knew she wasn't.

"Help me up," she told him. "I'll take you to her."

He eyed her in concern. "Should you be getting up?"

She smiled. "It's fine. I'm fine. Just a little tired."

He helped her up; he pulled the sheet back, helped her to stand, and arranged the hospital gown to protect her modesty. One arm pulled her against him, wrapped around her waist, keeping her on her feet, his other arm rested on her stomach as they walked, rested where their daughter should have still been.

"She's beautiful," Kate told him, her voice strained but still strong. "And she's a fighter."

"Takes after her mom already," he replied with just a touch of humor.

Tears were beginning to fall, streaking down Kate's cheeks. "They told me..." She paused to take a breath, not wanting to say it but having no choice. "She has less than an eighty percent chance of survival. That's..."

"More than enough," Castle finished. He was barely holding himself together and he hadn't even seen her yet. "Our little fighter."

And then there she was. His daughter. Tiny, pale, in an incubator, and hooked up to too many machines for someone so small. He exhaled, his hand shaking as he touched it to the glass separating them from the room inside, and the NICU keeping their daughter alive. Tears threatened to fall. "She's beautiful."

Kate nodded, not bothering to wipe away her own tears. "She's ours, Castle."

He pulled her tighter against his side, and kissed her forehead gently. "She needs a name, Kate," he whispered against her forehead, his breath moving wisps of her hair that had come loose from the ponytail. "We shouldn't wait any longer." _Just in case she doesn't make it_, he added silently.

Kate nodded. They'd been stuck for a first name since learning they were having a daughter. Alexis, Martha, Jim, even Ryan, Esposito and Lanie had all thrown ideas at them over the months. Ultimately they had decided to wait until she was born to find just the right name, but they'd run out of time. She needed a name _now_.

"It's almost Christmas." He paused. "Holly?"

Kate scrunched her nose up a little, turning to face him she shook her head at him.

"Okay, that's a no," he deciphered. He was captivated by the little bundle in the incubator. His little bundle. "I need Google." He dropped his hand from the cool glass, fumbled in his pocket for his phone. "If I pull out my phone will I get told off?"

Kate frowned. "What?" Her hand dropped onto his, stilling his movements.

"I need baby names." His voice was a little more frantic than he had intended it to be. "I-"

"Castle, it's okay," Kate soothed him with her tone, with her touch. "How about..." She paused, chewing on her lower lip as she tried to find the perfect name for the miracle before them. She sighed sadly; nothing seemed right.

It came to him then, through the swirling mist of terror in his mind, the breaking of his heart in his chest, the name was revealed. "Okay, don't get angry for what I'm about to suggest, but how about we drop the middle name and just call her Hanna?"

"H-a-n-n-a-h?" Kate asked, spelling it out.

"Without the h at the end."

Part of her mom's name, she realized. "Do you know what it means?" Kate asked.

Castle shook his head. "Nope. Does it matter?"

Kate was thoughtful for a moment, silent, before, "I guess not. No." She smiled then. "Hanna."

When their baby girl shifted ever so slightly within the incubator, they both smiled. "I think she approves," Castle observed.

"Hanna. Our little fighter," Kate whispered.

"Aaaw, she's gonna be a heart-breaker that one." He smiled before adding, "Maybe a nose or an arm breaker too."

Kate took a breath, squeezed his hand. "We can go in," she told him. "Are you ready?"

"Introduce me to our daughter, Kate."

* * *

><p>Five years after the birth, Castle sat on the couch in their home, Hanna curled up beside him. The Christmas tree stood before them, decorations hanging from every possible branch, tinsel and lights twinkling and glittering, lighting the corner of the room in a comforting glow. He had been reading <em>The Night before Christmas<em> to his daughter, when she had drifted off. Kate crept over to where they sat, carefully handing Castle a mug of hot chocolate, before sitting so that their daughter was between them. Hanna snuggled closer to her father, sighing softly in her sleep.

"Our little fighter turns five tomorrow," Kate said quietly, her voice breaking as she spoke. With a loving touch, she stroked the top of her daughter's head, smoothing her curls down. Even now, the memories of that night, five years ago, could bring her to tears in a second. The memories of the days and weeks that followed could break her heart all over again in an instant.

With big blue eyes, and brown hair that curled gently, she was becoming every bit the heart-breaker Castle had imagined, but also feared she might not become on particularly difficult days at the hospital following her birth. They'd almost lost her twice. Three times if he counted the difficult birth itself. He hadn't witnessed that, but he'd been there the two times she'd stopped breathing. He'd stopped breathing then too. But here she was, alive, healthy, strong, curled up against him on the eve of her birthday. Daddy's girl. "Hard to imagine she was so tiny once," he mumured. She was still a little small for her age, but she had otherwise come through the premature birth unscathed.

And she was beautiful.


	4. Chapter 4

**Oh dear, sad Guest reviewer leaving silly review after silly review, you clearly need some positivity in your life, so I'm posting this just for you. I hope it cheers you up. What also might cheer you up is, instead of leaving negative silliness, consider following the links on my profile page to the #ThankYouTerri campaign, and donating. That way you can be encouraging, and it might lift your own spirits a bit. Your amateur attempts at trolly reveiws are downright funny, and I appreciate the giggles you've been giving me today. Thank you. And again, please consider thanking Terri as well. Without the Castle writers there wouldn't be fic for you to troll. Big kisses all over you, you seem to need them. I look forward to your comments on this one too :) (I'm sorry they'll also be deleted though. You should sign in. Although if you're not yet 18, like I suspect, this one will be too adult for you. Oops.)  
><strong>

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><p><strong><strong>As this was written prior to 5x09, and 5x24, please note it does not stick to canon. Please note the rating change.<br>****

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 1: Dreams of Snow<strong>

* * *

><p><em>December 22nd 2012<em>

She sensed the change outside before she became fully aware of it. Curled up against his side, her body always gravitating to his even when asleep, she dreamed of white footpaths and shrouded skies. Images of a city blanketed by fresh, white powder filled her mind. She could almost smell it - _snow_.

She opened her eyes, blinked away the cobwebs of sleep, and held her breath.

The blinds were down in Castle's bedroom, shielding them from the world outside, but something had changed. She knew, somehow, that the mild weather of the previous day had shifted overnight_ - _but what had made her aware of that?

Exhaling slowly through her nose, Kate rolled onto her back - and listened.

And then, she heard it. The sound that had filtered into her unconscious mind and influenced her dreams.  
>A faint, wet tap, of something soft hitting the window, repetitive and familiar.<p>

_It was snowing._

She grinned.

Born and raised in the city, snow was a hindrance more than a wonder. It slowed her down on the roads, and made others around her more stupid behind the wheel. It turned the sidewalks grey and slippery, creating hazards where none had been previous.

Yet, she loved it.

Snow pushed the stiletto pumps back into the dark depths of her closet, and brought the heeled boots to the front. The coats in the closet, in her apartment's small vestibule, became her last stop on the way out the door, and the first on arriving home. A steaming cup of coffee at the precinct held even more enjoyment, and Castle's hot chocolate became a fixed part of her evening routine.

As had sleeping in his bed.

Slipping quietly out from under the blankets, Kate padded barefoot to the window and pulled the blinds, revealing the city beyond. As the snow fell, lightly in the night, she exhaled a contented breath.  
>Christmas would be white this year.<p>

"You okay?"

Castle's voice broke her out of her wintery reverie, and she turned and smiled at him.

He looked past her, into the night, and smiled in return. "Don't tell me Kate Beckett still gets excited by snow?"

She left the blinds up, and returned to the bed. "Just the first snow," she replied, allowing another layer to be peeled off, another piece of her to be revealed.

He opened his arms to her, nodding as she pressed her body to his. "Any first snow rituals I should be aware of?"

She stretched languidly, turning onto her side to face out the window. His body spooning hers from behind, his arms wrapped securely around her, she linked her fingers with his and considered it for a moment. "I think it's time to create new ones."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 2: Fingers numb, faces aglow<strong>

* * *

><p><em>December 23rd 2012<em>

The day stretched out, long and dark and cold. The current investigation tested the last of her patience, drawing upon all of her skills to work through it. At the scene, in the middle of a city park, she had cursed the weather. The sleet coming down was just enough to dampen both her spirits and clothing, and she longed to return to the precinct. Once back at the precinct, she longed for a window to gaze out of, to see if the snow was sticking.

By evening it was.

When a clear head and fresh eyes were necessary, and the need to call it a day became too strong, Kate wearily agreed to accompanying Castle home, too tired to argue.  
>Sliding into the back of the cab beside her partner she pressed her side to his, unable to suppress the shiver that ran through her. The temperature inside the cab was barely warmer than outside, the driver unwilling to turn on the heat.<p>

_Where was he from?_ She wondered. _Siberia?_

The chill in the air seeped through her winter gloves, the material failing to keep her fingers from feeling just a little stiff, a little too cold. With no coffee cup in her hands, she stuffed them deep into the pockets of her coat, and wiggled them to regain feeling.

Castle's arm snaked around her shoulders, tugging her body even closer to his, sharing his warmth. She smiled a thank you, and rested against him for the remainder of the ride.  
>She wanted to soak in a hot bath, drink red wine, and no longer allow the worries of the day to drag her down. But she would be content to just grab a bite to eat, before curling up next to him in his bed.<p>

Warm. She just wanted to be warm.

* * *

><p>They returned to an empty loft, Castle having already begged Martha to make other arrangements that night. Kate had stood listening to the conversation, mortified by Castle's pleas. But the older woman's voice over the speakerphone had soothed her with an amused chuckle and words of, "Be good, kids."<p>

Surely she was beyond being embarrassed that Castle's mother was aware she was sleeping with her son.  
>Apparently not, it seemed, as the warmth in her face reminded her that her cheeks were just a slightly pinker hue than normal.<p>

His fingers curled at her waist as he led her into the warm living room, and the feel of his body against hers, his comforting scent surrounding her, sent thoughts of food and relaxation fleeing from her mind. An empty loft and a roaring fire?

Food could definitely wait.

* * *

><p>Last December she hadn't dared dream that a year from then she would be laid naked upon a white faux fur rug in Castle's living room, his lips trailing across skin illuminated only by the flickering light from the fireplace before them.<br>She could have spent the last four Christmases in his arms, if only she'd been in the right place; if only she had been a little less stubborn, a little more brave.

If only, if only.

Such thoughts banished, Kate had hooked her pinky round his, and led him toward the fireplace with her lower lip firmly caught between her teeth, and a teasing smile on her face.

Both were almost stripped of all clothing, when Castle had turned and moved to the window. She had called him back, asked for the blinds to be up, to let the voyeurs have their fun. She just wanted to see the snow.  
>Warm and contented, she had sank into the rug, letting the tension flow out of her.<p>

It was then that she left her job behind, pushed the case from her mind, and stretched out languidly, allowing him to love her. His lips trailed a line of kisses up to her knee, to her thigh. Her body shivered in anticipation, her fingers sinking deep into soft fur, clasping handfuls in her fist. His tongue, his lips, caressed her inner-thigh, soothed away the day.  
>He traveled past where she needed his most, a frustrated groan leaving her own lips as he journeyed up and over the protrusion of her hip, the flat plane of her stomach, the curve of her waist.<p>

Her heels pressed into the soft fur, sliding aside as she pulled her knees up. He slipped between her legs, his palms pressed deep into the rug on either side of her head. Naked and warm his body covered hers, his fingers threading through her hair, gentle caresses, careful not to tug on the long tresses. One hand untangled from her hair, trailing down her long neck, her chest, over the curve of her breast. His lips found hers, her mouth opening, tongues sliding. His thumb swept across her nipple, and she arched up off the rug, pressing her lips harder to his, sighing into his mouth.

In the darkened room, the area surrounding them lit only by flickering fire light, her body aroused and her skin glowing, the magic of the holiday season was suddenly undeniable, almost tangible. And in his eyes, for less than a second before he blinked, she swore she saw Christmas lights reflected there.

And maybe something more...

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 3: Love and laughter and joy ever after<strong>

* * *

><p><em>Mid-December<em>

He had never been in her apartment near Christmas, never seen just how seriously she took the holiday.  
>Before May, before she'd had an epiphany on a swing set in the rain, she knew he had seen her as someone more likely to spend Christmas at the precinct, than at home.<p>

She had done neither.

Throughout her father's battles, and no matter how deep she had been, weighed down by her own grief, she had always spent Christmas day with her father, at his apartment, just the two of them.

And every year in her own apartment, in a corner beside the small two-seater couch, stood a Christmas tree she alone had decorated. Small, but standing proud, a reminder to find joy in spite of whatever may be happening around her.

This year, Castle had helped. She had allowed him in just a little more, and invited him to share her once private traditions with her. Together they had trimmed the tree, Kate switching between chuckling with him when he tried to drape a garland around her, and admonishing him when he held baubles just a little too suggestively against himself. The string of lights the final touch, she hit the light switch beside the kitchen, and with his arms wrapped securely around her, his body pressed against her back, they stood before the tree in the darkened apartment, admiring their work.

* * *

><p><em>December 24th<em>

A bottle of wine stood empty on the coffee table, their glasses long drained. Her body warm, just slightly buzzed, she stood beside the twinkling Christmas lights. One of her hands rested on the arm of the couch beside her, the other turned the string of a bauble between her fingers. The pale glass ornament hung from the Christmas tree, spinning and catching the light, but she wasn't focused on that, almost unaware she was even moving it. Eyes trained ahead, Kate gazed out at the white landscape beyond her living room window, smiling softly to herself as the snow fell gently outside. She turned to where Castle sat at the end of the couch, so close to her, her lips parted ready to comment on the views she was absorbing, when she paused, blinked, frowned slightly at the intensity of his blue eyes on her.

"You are beautiful."

Her features softened, and her breath hitched at his tone; a second set of lights flicked on, the timer clicking over, and the added light showed the intensity in his eyes for what it actually was: love, so much love, and wonder. She lifted her hand off the arm rest, and reached for him. He silently watched her as she linked her fingers through his. She squeezed his hand while she struggled to find the words, hoping the gesture spoke the 'thank you' she was unable to say out loud. He tugged at her hand, but she refused to move, tugging back to move him instead. She dropped his hand as he moved to stand in front of her - and she didn't care that he was blocking her view of the falling snow. He leaned in, her mouth opening as his lips met hers; they kissed in front of the Christmas tree, a slow, sensual exploration of mouths, tongues, and lips. She sighed into his mouth, pulled him closer with hands curled at his waist. As they kissed, they maneuvered back, away from the window but still within reach of the tree.

The sound of their wet lips separating filled her with mirth, and she chuckled, grinned at him, thinking to herself it was as though their skin was voicing its displeasure at being parted. And she agreed. She dropped to her knees, tugging him down with her, her lips quick to find his once more.

He laid her down beneath the garlands and baubles, on a thin scattering of pine needles, their bodies lit only by the multicolored flickering of the Christmas lights. He dragged and peeled the clothing off her body, her nimble fingers quickly shedding him of his, until her bare back made contact with the cool apartment floor, and his warm skin covered hers. Flesh against flesh, he slipped a leg between hers, eased her own further apart. The feel of him brushing against her, the anticipation of him within her, was more foreplay than she needed, and she angled her pelvis, shifted her hips, and told him to hurry up without words. Her malleable body arched up smoothly, his hands at her waist effortlessly lifted her; he held her hips securely and entered her.

She breathed out a sigh as he filled her, her pelvis pressed harder to his, her body arched just a little more - and then she sunk down. Her back reconnected with the floor, but she no longer felt the soft pricking of the pine needles, no longer felt the discomfort from the cool, hard surface against her skin. All she felt was him, moving inside her, the heat from the friction spreading through her, consuming her. She raised her arms up, back, stretching them out past her head, until her hands connected with the side of an armchair, and she pushed against it, meeting his thrusts with a steadier rhythm.  
>Long and lean beneath him, her breasts bounced with the movement of their bodies meeting, and she smiled as his eyes drifted to her chest, and remained there - mesmerized.<p>

The feelings intensified; she felt his strokes grow shorter, less controlled, and as he hit all the right places she lost her ability to think, almost to breathe. Her hands moved back to him, snaked around his neck, and she raised her body ever so slightly. She dipped her head, dropped it to his shoulder, and she clung to him as her release built.

She stilled, his movements never ceasing, and small gasps of pleasure left her lips as she reached her peak; she let go, her muscles contracting around him, the waves of pleasure coursing through her, and she shuddered against him as she rode them out.

Reds and blues, whites and greens, the light from the tree bounced off their shimmering skin, their bodies slicked with a thin sheen of sweat. She saw it on her arm, slung over his shoulder, wrapped around his neck, as she lifted her head and turned to plant breathless kisses to his salty, stubble-roughened jaw.

He lowered her head carefully back down to the floor, and hitched her leg high around his waist, holding it tight against him. She rested her palms on his cheeks, framing his face, and her fingertips brushed against his rough skin as he moved within her. Soon, with short, sharp strokes, he found his own release.

* * *

><p>Later, as she lay peacefully in his arms, stretched out languidly on her living room floor, between her couch and the Christmas tree, her eyes searched for the time. She strained to read the numbers on the wall-mounted, round face of the clock above the couch, beside the tree.<p>

One. She guessed. Or five minutes past twelve.

Either way, her next move would be the same.

She smiled and turned in his arms. Her nose brushing his, their lips almost touching, she breathed two words against his skin.

"Merry Christmas."

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 4: A time for hating and fighting to cease<strong>

* * *

><p><em>December 25th 2012<em>

Peace. Joy. Hope. Love. Goodwill.

Christmas.

Even the soldiers during WWI had embraced the season, mingling and exchanging gifts in No Man's Land. Stories like that, of people coming together, putting aside their differences, and embracing the spirit of the holidays, always gave Kate hope.  
>Hope that one Christmas morning she wouldn't awake to the sound of murder - the familiar noise of her phone buzzing to indicate another life lost.<p>

It was a constant in her life. Every Christmas morning, without fail, since she had first become a Rookie - that sound.  
>It had just never been quite this difficult to get out of bed and face it before.<br>Castle stirred beside her, his arm instinctively falling across her waist and pulling her to him. Even in his sleep he knew that sound, knew she was about to leave him. She turned in his arms as his eyes fluttered open, and she smiled sadly at him.  
>"There's been a murder."<p>

He was still waking up, didn't quite register the meaning of her words. "Mmmhmmm," he replied sleepily.

She kissed his lips, drawing him back to consciousness. "I'll see you later."

"Wait." He quickly blinked away the last cobwebs of sleep. His voice stronger, his brain more alert, he asked, "You're going?" He seemed shocked by that.

She smiled ruefully. "Its my job, Castle."

"I know but.. It's Christmas!"

"Since when does Death care what day it is?" He looked hurt then, by her words, her tone a little harder than she had intended, and the fact she was leaving. Leaning over him, she kissed his lips sweetly, lingering until a peck became more and his lips moved with hers. She broke the kiss, but kept her lips close to his. "I'll make it up to you," she promised.

"I'm coming," he said defiantly, pushing the sheet back and moving to sit.

She placed the tip of her finger on his bare chest, and pushed him back against the mattress. "No," she replied firmly. "You're going home, to spend Christmas Day with Martha and Alexis, and I'll join you as soon as I can."

"But-"

"Castle," she said, sighing heavily. "Be with your family. I'll get away as soon as I can."

His hands reached up to frame her face. "You should be with your family too."

Her heart felt like it exploded in her chest, clenching and expanding and flipping around, spun out of control by love. She slid down, her breasts flattening against her chest, against his, as she lay along the length of him. Her legs settled on either side of his, and she exhaled a sigh laced with arousal as he pressed hard and ready against her thin underwear. She hadn't meant to, hadn't intended to tease him, but when she felt him harden under her, press against her just a little more firmly, her hips moved forward, and she brushed the smooth fabric of her panties along him.

"Sorry," she murmured, her lips inches from his.

"You're killing me," he muttered in response. His fingertips trailed down her bare sides, making her squirm, causing her to press down just a little harder, and he held a breath to stay in control. He traveled lower, cupping her small, firm ass, before one hand slipped between her legs, slid between her skin and the fabric, and teased her slick heat.  
>She bucked against his hand, her head dropping, her eyes closing, her resolve crumbling.<p>

"You've got, what?" He whispered into her ear. "Thirty minutes before they expect you there?"

His tongue found her earlobe, trailed a wet, warm path down her neck, and she whimpered. "Roughly," she managed to force out.

His fingers circled her, sliding up and around the center of her need for him. "So the way I see it we have five minutes."

"Not enough time," she replied, her voice husky and broken.

He parted her folds, and thrust two fingers deep within her. Her body shuddered above him, her hips grinding down to take him deeper. "Plenty," he replied. Sliding out of her, he pushed her panties to the side.

She moved up, pushing off his torso until she was raised up on her knees, straddling his hips. She placed a hand on his abdomen, the other grasped the sheet beside her, while he moved to enter her.

Four minutes, and counting, and he thrust deep as she sank down, encasing him completely. He sensed she would want to take a minute to silently revel in the feel of them being joined, but there was no time. He rocked his hips, moving within her, jolting her back, reminding her they had precious little time.

It felt so wrong - taking this moment when a life had just been lost - and the knowledge that they really shouldn't be doing this urged her on. She felt exhilarated, the rush of something inappropriate, of something Katherine Beckett would normally never do. But it was Christmas Day, and was it so wrong to start the day with a little joy before Death consumed her, demanded her attention, and kept her bound for the next... however many long, cold, hours. And Castle felt so good. Always. He filled her, his hips thrusting and rotating to hit all the spots that made her cry out, made her body shudder, made her head loll back, her eyes close, and her lips part - and ultimately made her break apart, shuddering and gasping, in his arms.

The heat in her veins was unrelenting, building from the moment she had pressed her body against his, coursing through her, emanating out, and threatening to undo her. His hand slipped between them, finding her sensitive bundle of nerves tumescent and ready. Her head fell forward as his fingers began to circle her, his hips never ceasing. She sank down, harder, grinding against him, increasing the pressure of his touch.

She couldn't stay in control. She didn't want to.

He felt her tightening, felt her muscles clenching, watched as her head fell back, her back arched as she struggled to hold on, her skin warm and sanguine. "Let go, Kate." He breathed the sentence out, coaxing her orgasm out of her a little more with each word. "Let go."

She ground down hard, rotating her hips until he could barely thrust. She didn't need him to. He'd hit the spot and she was keeping him there, keeping him where she needed him as he hit it over and over, taking her closer to the edge with just the smallest of movements.

She held her breath as she reached the precipice, her long, lean body curved back and stationary - just for a moment - before she came undone. A small cry left her lips, and then she was falling forward, shuddering and boneless, as she came to lay upon him, their bodies still joined.

He wrapped his arms around her, holding her as she came back into herself, as she regained control, and could move again. His fingertips rubbed circles against her back and he simply held her, wishing he didn't have to let her go. As she snuggled down a sound of sated joy bubbled out from between her lips, and he grinned, despite hating himself for what he was about to say. "You have to get up now."

The "don't wanna" was on the tip of her tongue, but she swallowed it down. She pushed up on her hands, pressed deep into the mattress, and surveyed him through displeased eyes. "You can't do _that_ to me and then expect me to be able to go to a crime scene like usual."

He grinned, his eyes sparkling. "Wouldn't be the first time. In fact," he said, way too proud of himself, "this _is _becoming the usual."

Easing off him, she rolled away and stood on shaky legs. While she disappeared into her bathroom to tidy herself up, he stood and made his way naked into her kitchen, turning on the coffee maker so she could at least start the day with caffeine in her system.

When she returned, dressed and put-together, he handed her the coffee mug. Once it was securely in her hand he pressed his lips to hers, his hands trailing around her hips, resting on her lower back, fingers splayed.

She returned the kiss, allowing his touch to draw her body to his. Her lips slanted against his, finding the rhythm, and moving lazily. She broke the kiss, a soft sigh escaping her mouth, before she could get too carried away, before she increased the pressure, pushed him back against the kitchen counter, and went for round two.  
>Needing a distraction, she raised the coffee mug between them and tested the heat of the coffee with a cautious sip. Finding it a safe temperature, she gulped it down quickly.<p>

"Did you even taste that?" He asked teasingly, breaking the contact to retrieve his own coffee cup from the kitchen counter. He took a slow sip, drawing the action out, and savoring the flavors of the spicy Christmas blend.

"On a day like this it's not about the taste."

He swallowed quickly. "But it's Christmas."

"I meant, when you distract me with sex coffee becomes about nothing more than a caffeine fix." She handed him back her empty cup and gave him a small - but apologetic - smile.

"About that sex," he began slowly, hiding his smirk behind his cup. "You owe me big time."

Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she wrapped a scarf around her neck, and leaned in to kiss his lips again, her boots bringing her up to his height. It was little more than a quick, goodbye kiss, but it still sent bolts of electricity coursing through her. She pulled back, her skin still flushed, her eyelids still heavy from the after-effects of the orgasm. She was leaving him in a state, she knew, but he wasn't the one about to go to a crime scene with the glow of sex all around him.

"Tonight," she promised. She would need it: a round two, perhaps three or four. She knew what was ahead of her, knew all too well the routine of the next few hours.

There was still hope. For her, there was still the possibility of joy and peace - just not for the family she would have to speak to this Christmas Day.

Today there would be presents under a tree that would never be opened.

Even during the WWI Christmas Truce soldiers were shot, men had lost their lives.

No, Death didn't care what day it was.

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter 5: The old has passed, there's a new beginning<strong>

* * *

><p><em>December 26th 2013<em>

The cooling tepid water lapped at her breasts, around the tops of her knees, as she lay submerged to her chest in the tub. She held her left hand outstretched before her, her eyes transfixed on the glittering diamond, and the gold band around her finger.

_Yes_.

Kate replayed the moment, in Castle's living room, in his loft, in front of the Christmas tree she had helped decorate this year. She had been quietly admiring the tree when movement in her peripheral vision had broken her from her reverie. She had turned and...

A yes, whispered at first, then repeated more firmly, had left her lips while he knelt before her, ring outstretched held securely between this thumb and forefinger, his eyes a mix of fear and hope. Would she say yes? Would she say no?

She had repeated her answer, almost a chant now, as his eyebrows had raised and his eyes widened, as his whoop of joy had pierced the air, and he'd pulled her in for a happy, crushing hug.

Tears had formed in his eyes, spilled from hers.

They had popped the Champagne, toasted to them, and found their way to his bed, where they had celebrated through the night.

Twenty four hours later, and it was all finally sinking in.

The bubbles had long since dissipated, and she knew if she turned her hand around she would see the pruning on the tips of her fingers. But her eyes remained fixed on the back of her hand, and the reason for the foreign feeling - the weight - on her ring finger.

Thirty four years old and she had never adorned that particular finger before – and it both exhilarated and terrified her.  
>She had said yes. Christmas day, 2013. She had said yes.<p>

Her focus shifted, her eyes taking in the small bathroom around her. So much would be changing soon. She would be relocating, officially moving into the loft, and this place - her home - would be sold on to someone else.

They hadn't even picked a date yet; he hadn't pushed her after placing the ring on her finger, giving her the time she needed before dates were discussed.

Earlier today, as she had kissed him goodbye, her lips had lingered above his after they had parted, long enough for her to breathe out the word "_Yes_". To reassure him that nothing had changed overnight. There had been no doubt in her answer the first time.

She had then driven to her father's cabin, spent the day with her dad, and shared the news. He had reduced her to tears with the first words that left his lips. "_Rick is a good man_."  
>Her tears continued to flow as he added, "<em>Your mother would be so proud of you, Katie<em>."

His lack of surprise had made her suspicious. Through her tears she said, "_He came to you and asked for your blessing didn't he._"

Although he was silent, her father's smile, that he failed to repress, confirmed it. She had chuckled, hugged her father, and thanked him for keeping the secret.

Driving back into NYC in the early evening, as the snow had begun to fall, she had made her way home, filled the tub, and sank beneath the warmth. She would go to him again tonight - soon - and the planning would begin, but first she had needed a long soak, a glass of red wine, and the time alone for it all to sink in.

And now that it had, nothing had ever felt so right before.

**End.**


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